


morning will come (my heart will break)

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't say I didn't warn you, Drabble Sequence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Miscarriage, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Sexual Content, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, this is an angst bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol and Daryl were married before the Turn, but the loss of Sophia tears them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Story title taken from _Just Like A Dream_ by Lykke Li.

She remembers the day they first met. When she took Ed's car to a garage two towns away with a scratch that had not been her fault (but would earn her punishment all the same). She remembers how Daryl, whom she'd never seen before, seemed to look at her and _understand_.

 

He fixed it for free. In less than two hours. Sending her off with a look in his blue eyes that made her feel... good.

 

Now, he hardly looks at her anymore. Stolen glances when they sit across from each other with the fire between them. When she wakes up by his side on the cold ground and he turns away with a heavy sigh. Carol understand why. All he sees when he looks at her is Sophia. It's all she ever sees in him these days.

 

 

 

She remembers the first time she kissed him. Chaste, almost shy. Her heart pounding in her ribcage. The sound of Ed's car pulling up in the driveway driving them apart.

 

Now, she can not remember the last time she felt his lips brush against hers. The flutter it used to stir in her belly has long simmered down to nothing but ashes.

 

 

 

She remembers his broad smile when she stood on his doorstep with a bag in her hand. _I broke up with Ed._ How his arms swept her up and knocked the air out of her lungs.

 

He never smiles anymore, and neither does she. (Sophia used to smile all the time, cheeks tinted pink with the elation of it.)

 

 

 

She remembers the first time they made love, how it felt to be touched and cherished without fear. How he kissed every inch of her freckled skin, sunk into her with a sigh that carried the sound of her name.

 

These days, their touches are different. Accidental when they walk past each other in another house that is their shelter for the night. Or deliberate to tend to small wounds, to hand him a bowl of bland beans. Some days, she wants to reach across the rift that has opened between them and take his hand. Only some days.

 

 

 

She remembers their wedding day. Plain white dress, a bouquet of pale flowers, no guests, only them. The feeling of finally doing something _right_.

 

At night when sleep evades her (because it is too cold, because her stomach is empty, because her limbs ache), she twirls her wedding band round and round. _I do. I do. I do._ Does she?

 

 

 

She remembers the day Sophia was born. How Daryl cradled her in his strong arms, eyes glistening with tears.

 

She'll never forget the day their baby died, blood crusting on her shirt, cheeks hollow, a bullet shooting through her brain.

 

 

 

 _I love you_ , she whispers one night, reaching out to rest her palm between Daryl's shoulder blades. He does not stir, and he's either asleep or pretending to be.

 

She nearly pulls her hand away. Then she hears it. _Yeah, I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might recognize this, because it was part of my daily drabble series I did a few months ago. But it was one of my favorite drabbles to write and I've been wanting to expand on it for a while.
> 
> I know, I know, I have plenty of WIPs that I should focus on, but I needed a break and a distraction. And apparently I need angst. A lot of it...


	2. two

He remembers the first time he made her laugh. A proper laugh, not a polite smile or nervous snicker. She held her belly, cheeks flushed, eyes watered. Beautiful.

 

He knew she was married. Hell, he wasn't a damn fool, could see the ring and the nervous jolt of her shoulders whenever the bell announced a new customer. But she gave him that moment when the song of her laughter filled the room. All he could do was blush and look down at his fidgeting fingers curled around a cup of coffee.

 

She never laughs anymore and he is glad for it, doesn't think he could bear the sound. It's linked too intimately to a different time, and to hear the sweet sound of it now would soil his memories of it.

 

 

 

He remembers the night she showed up on his doorstep with a split lip and red eyes. She fell asleep that night on his ratty couch with his arm curled around her shoulder and her tears warm as they soaked his shirt.

 

It is too cold now, the ground covered in a fine, glistening layer of ice, their breaths no more than mist. She's trembling violently by his side, a foot of space between them. He _can't_. But he has to. So he sighs and turns, wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her against him. Curls himself around her until her shivering ebbs away.

 

He finds no sleep.

 

 

 

He remembers the morning he proposed to her. She'd only just woken up, eyes heavy with sleep. The sky that peaked from behind the thick curtains was a dusty rose color almost as beautiful as the tint of her cheeks. The first warmth of spring and its blossoming scent carried on a breeze through the open window. She whispered _yes_ and brushed away his doubt with her soft lips.

 

The only comfort spring brings him now is distance. They no longer need each other for warmth.

 

Yet, without Carol in his arms, he feels colder than ever before.

 

 

 

He remembers the house they moved into the same day her divorce was finalized. A fixer upper with dusty floor boards, creaking stairs and a wild backyard. But Carol had smiled as brightly as never before, dragging him by the hand to the empty bedroom, kissing the breath out of him. _It's ours_ , she whispered with gleaming eyes.

 

To the others, the prison seems like a salvation. A sanctuary in the wild. To him, it's a cage.

 

He isn't surprised when she wordlessly joins Lori in one of the cells instead of putting down her bedroll next to his on the perch.

 

 

 

She adjusts the red scarf around her head, the sun glaring down on them without mercy.

 

_Ya gonna get a sunburn,_ he says. His fingers brush against the dip of her collarbone left exposed by her shirt before he can stop himself. She freezes, eyes wide. Then, softly, the tips of her fingers ghost at the skin of his wrist. He steps away with a sigh.

 

 

Two hours later, he finds the scarf on the concrete floor next to blood and guts.


	3. three

She remembers the morning of their wedding. They ate pancakes together as if it was a Sunday, blueberries and maple syrup bursting with flavor on their tongues. Nervous excitement was palpable in the air and visible in their eyes. A rich and warm summer morning, their hands linked on the table.

 

_How long have you and Daryl been together?_ Lori asks one day, cradling her belly. Carol locks her eyes on Daryl across the small clearing where he is talking to Glenn by one of the cars.

 

_Sixteen years._

 

The taste of stale crackers is like ash on her tongue.

 

 

 

She remembers laying awake at night when she was pregnant with Sophia, her lower back aching, sweat pearling on her forehead, nightgown clinging to her like a second layer of skin. She tossed and turned until Daryl would stir from his sleep and reach across the bed to grasp her hand. To massage her shoulder. To kiss away the pain. To feel their daughter move inside of her.

 

Now, she waits until Lori falls asleep before climbing out of her bunk, the old metal moaning beneath her. Outside of the cell, moonlight shines in through barred windows, just enough for her to see Daryl sleeping on his side on the perch. Just as alone as she feels. Out of reach.

 

 

 

She remembers holding Daryl's hand as they watched a school play, Sophia's angel wings pearly and white, her smile beaming from the stage as she burst into song and spread her arms towards the cardboard clouds.

 

A bony hand claws her shirt, fingernails scraping down her spine, the fabric her only protection. She stops moving then, turns around and looks into blood-shot eyes. Hollowed out cheeks have turned marble blue, blood has crusted and turned black.

 

It's the answer to all her prayers. She can just _stop_. Right here. Right now. Put an end to all her pain.

 

But then she hears one last whimper from T-Dog as he is torn apart. For her. To keep her safe.

 

Fingers claw at her scarf and it falls away when she stumbles through the door.

 

 

 

She remembers the day Daryl nearly died. His bike crashed against a tree. Her hand curled around his as she watched the monitors blinking. Sophia deep asleep on her lap, tears drying on her sweet face. He woke hours later in the dead of night and hoarsely muttered _'m sorry_ a breadth of a second before she silenced him with a tear-soaked kiss.

 

Her throat still feels dry now, her skin raw. But Daryl is curled around her on the bunk, his finger smoothing circles into her palm. His lips pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. He doesn't say a word now. Hasn't really said anything since he carried her out of the tombs.

 

But he is here with her.

 

 

 

The baby is cradled in her arms, calm and deep asleep. A long forgotten comfort that makes her heart ache.

 

_Do you really have to go?_ His eyes sharpen. Flicker down to the baby in her arms.

 

A curt nod. _Stay safe._

 

_Nine lives, remember?_

 

He sighs. Nods again. Brushes his hand along her elbow. Against the baby's tiny foot.


	4. four

He remembers the first time he told her he loved her. Arms wrapped around her, the back of her head against his chest, fingers entwined, his thighs bracketing hers. Crickets filling the night with their song. He only whispered the words.

 

She turned her head, smiled. Kissed him. Murmured them back against his lips. And despite everything that ever happened to him, he believed her.

 

He doesn't tell her that he was broken. That the thought of her dead tore him apart. That he didn't know if he could go on without her. Or if he even _wanted_ to. He doesn't tell her that he placed a white rose on her empty grave.

 

All he does is hold her close as she falls into a deep sleep, kissing the base of her neck.

 

 

 

He remembers the proud grin on his brother's face the first time he met Carol – weeks after they got married. Sober and clean for the first time in years, Merle slapped him on the shoulder. _Ya did good, lil' brother._

 

He was back in jail three months later.

 

Daryl stares at Merle through the bars of the door where Rick insisted he must stay – for now. Lucid, starved, angry, mad. The man he remembers.

 

_Should've stayed out there with me, lil' brother._ A sly smile. Reminders of a choice Daryl is ashamed to admit he considered. Briefly.

 

_Got people here. Carol._

 

A chuckle. _Ya sure ain't lookin' like love birds no more._

 

 

 

He remembers how nervous he was the first time he made love to her. Peeling away her clothes until she was quivering. Holding his own breath when he looked at the freckled planes of pale skin. Feeling proud when she unraveled under his touch. Sighing when he sank into her. He will never forget the world falling into place when she curled her legs around him and he came inside her with her name no more than a gasp on his lips.

 

The echo of whatever words they just threw at each other has passed, and Daryl has no clue what ultimately made them snap. But he hardly gives a damn now that he is buried so deep inside her that every harsh thrust sends her whole body sliding up the rough concrete wall. She wasn't quite ready and he knows it, but she isn't doing anything to stop him either. Claws at him and pulls him deeper. Desperately.

 

His pants pushed down just below his ass. Her own pooling around her ankles. Calloused fingers digging into her waist. Hips snapping.

 

He comes inside her with a muffled grunt and in the aftermath, they are both silent.

 

 

 

He remembers the day he nearly beat Ed to a pulp, driven by endless hate. How Carol pulled him away and pleaded with him. Convinced him that he wasn't worth it.

 

When Rick tells them they're going to war with Woodbury, Daryl nods at his brother with determination. The pleading in Carol's eyes is a familiar one, and he disappears into the tombs as quick as a shadow.

 

 

 

_Are we ever going to talk about her?_ Carol's whisper breaks the silence of the night, her hand reaching for his in the dark.

 

The air, already thick and humid, becomes almost impossible to breathe in. Memories flash through his mind. High-pitched crying. Strawberry blonde hair. Bubbling laughter. Small hands around his neck.

 

_I can't_ , he chokes. It's the most honest thing he has said in months.


	5. five

She remembers the first time they made love after Sophia was born. How Daryl kissed away all her insecurities, made her feel nothing but beautiful. After, she curled into his side and let him kiss her until sleep claimed them both.

 

The last time they did this was at the CDC with the luxuriously warm water of the shower raining down upon them. It had been desperate, their arms entwined and she'd come apart around him with tears in her eyes.

 

Now, her core aches and her back is sore when Daryl moves away, his release sticky on the insides of her thighs. But she reaches for him all the same, seeks for another kiss before he can pull away from her again.

 

 

 

She remembers laying splayed out on white, ruffled sheets. Tracing a demon and feathering kisses along the jagged raise of one of many an old scar. Daryl told her about his father that day, voice trembling. About his brother – about the two of them alone in the world after their mother died. The only family he ever truly had.

 

He tried hard not to cry, the spring sunlight glistening in his eyes. She only listened, held him as old memories tore through him.

 

 _He's dead_ , is all he says as he quietly walks into their cell, blood crusting on his clothes and hands. After that, he is silent except for the sobs that wreck him. Limply, he falls into her arms and she curls herself around him on their bed, kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. Runs her hand down his back and arms, strips him of his dirty clothes. Washes him clean.

 

She falls asleep long after exhaustion has claimed him, her cheek pressed into his neck. Feeling his loss like a faint echo that pulses in the dark.

 

Just like everything else feels dull and numb these days.

 

 

 

She remembers the night after her divorce when Daryl took her out for dinner. With no need to hide anymore he took her hand on the table, kissed her breathlessly on the sidewalk by his truck under the dim glow of a street lamp. There was no longer any shame in his caresses, nor fear. She felt free.

 

_Andrea?_

 

He shakes his head, head cast downwards. Carol sighs sadly, mourning their friend as much as she still can. Behind Daryl's shoulder, she watches the people spilling from the bus, filling the prison yard with curious chatter.

 

Old and young.

 

She takes a few steps forward, presses her hand against Daryl’s chest – covered by the poncho she'd found for him. The look of surprise on his face is the last thing she sees before she kisses him. Out here for everybody to see.

 

 

 

She remembers Sunday morning breakfasts. Pancakes shaped like suns and stars. A blueberry-tinted grin on Sophia's lips. The smell of coffee on their small porch. Daryl's sleepy smile.

 

Setting down the plate, Carol follows Daryl's gaze, ever watchful. More walkers are gathering at the fences below the watchtower.

 

_Brought you dinner._

 

He nods, turns. Offers her something like a weak smile.

 

She's dizzy from climbing the stairs. The stench of rotting corpses making her nauseous. Her tired eyes nearly fluttering shut. But she stays and sits cross-legged on the floor. Keeping him silent company.

 

 

 

She is looking down at her trembling fingers in her lap, legs crossed on the thin mattress.

 

 _Y'all right?_ Daryl's voice sounds distant as climbs into bed behind her, curling his arms around her waist. Hands against her stomach. He's different. He's trying. _Been quiet._ More quiet than usual, she adds in her mind.

 

She sucks in a breath. Fights the emptiness inside of her. For his sake. For the sake of...

 

Warm lips against the back of her neck. Like an apology.

 

_I'm pregnant._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this constant need to apologize for how sad this story is. If you're still reading: you have no idea how much that means to me ❤
> 
> In other news, I made a playlist for this fic because music is really my main motivation to write. And there's so little actual plot and dialogue to this short story, I felt like some additional music might add to the mood and atmosphere. 
> 
> You can listen to it here: https://open.spotify.com/user/1lilabut/playlist/31L6e9WuOpdVYotsfqXhcq


	6. six

He remembers the years after Sophia was born. How desperately they tried for another baby. Over and over until making love became a chore. Tears spilled over yet another negative test. He held Carol when she wept at night, asking the universe for some sense of justice.

 

Eventually, they learned to live with the disappointment.

 

When she tells him she is pregnant, dread washes over him like a tidal wave, suffocating him. At the same time, he already loves this baby with all he has left – but after everything they have suffered through, he does not have much left to give.

 

Torn between love and resentment, he holds Carol until she falls asleep, asking the dead of night _why._

 

Why now?

 

 

 

He remembers Sophia's first birthday. The cake Carol spent hours on. The balloons. The silly music. The other kids. The laughter, the flushed cheeks. The bubbling giggle when he threw his little girl into the air and caught her safely.

 

Feeling like he was living someone else's life.

 

It would take him years to accept all the good he'd been given.

 

_I want Sophia back,_ Carol whispers into the darkness of the cell through a thick veil of tears. Their hands rest entwined against her stomach, only the slightest swell giving away the life growing inside of her.

 

Her words cut like knifes. _Me, too,_ he chokes on a breath cut short.

 

She shudders. Grabs his hand so tightly that he's sure she's leaving crescent marks in the flesh of his palm. _I should have-_

 

_Wasn't your fault,_ he interrupts her instantly. Remembering the night after Sophia stepped out of the barn. What he'd thrown at her (angry, loud, raging. _why didn't ya keep an eye on her?_ ). He's never forgiven himself. _Was nobody's fault._

 

A long pause. _You really think that?_

 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

 

 

 

He remembers what happiness felt like. Drawing patterns on Carol's swollen belly. Whispering to their unborn child. Painting the nursery. Setting up the crib. Holding her hand during each doctor's appointment. The anticipation, the excitement, the bone-chilling fear of not being _enough_ constantly pushed away by the sheer joy he felt.

 

All they can do now is pretend. He watches her stomach grow. Tries to tell himself that they can keep this child safe. Keeps his eyes open for baby essentials on every run – not just for Judith anymore.

 

Anticipation has become anxiety. Excitement has numbed. There's nothing to wipe away their fears.

 

 

 

He remembers the first time he held Sophia in his arms. Small and frail with wispy curls of blonde hair, a button nose and rosy lips. Tiny fingers grasping his as he held her to his chest. Feeling his heart swelling to the point of pain.

 

When he comes back from his run – sweaty and caked in mud – Rick waits for him behind the fence. The look on his face (pity, sadness, fear) stops Daryl in his tracks, and he _knows_.

 

He's out of breath by the time he reaches their cell, nearly running into Maggie when she steps out with bloody towels in her arms and tears streaking her face. She touches a gentle hand to his arm but he just pushes past her.

 

Carol is laying on her side, sweat pearling on her forehead, her eyes blank.

 

 

 

He holds her through it all, doesn't stray from her side. Not this time.

 

She pulls through the blood loss and the fever that wrecks her after, but in her vacant eyes he can see that she wishes she didn't.

 

Right in front of him, she withers away like a flower in the frost and all he can do is watch.

 

_Stay with me,_ he breathes, tucking her into his side. She's deep asleep, resting, still too warm to the touch. But he begs that she can hear him, that she can grant him this one wish.

 

Just this one.


	7. seven

She remembers those hazy weeks before Sophia was born when she'd be curled up on their bed and watch the trees sway in the wind outside. Her hands cradling the swell of her stomach, feeling her little girl move in intricate dances beyond her understanding. A mug of tea steaming on the bedside table, a book abandoned on the patchwork quilt.

 

She is laying on her back now, staring up at the cracks in the concrete ceiling of the cell. One hand grasping the wrinkled sheets, the other splayed over her stomach. There's still the slightest swell to it, mocking her, making it so easy to pretend that she could keep at least _this_ child safe.

 

But she will never hold their little boy in her arms (and _God_ how sure she'd been it was a boy, determined with every fiber of her being). Instead, he's nothing more than another grave in a prison yard now. A small wooden cross and an initial spelled in pebbles.

 

 

 

She remembers the thrill she felt during those first months when she discovered all the small ways she could conjure a smile onto Daryl's face. Kissing his nose in the morning when he was still half-asleep. Holding onto him tightly on the back of his bike as it roared beneath them. Dropping her towel shamelessly on the ground right in front of him after her shower (a nervous smile that turned into a blush before ending on a heated glare).

 

_Ya gotta eat._ He sounds defeated as he looks down at the untouched plate he'd brought her hours before. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits down, hands curling into fists on his thighs.

 

_I'm not hungry,_ she whispers hoarsely, her voice lost somewhere along the way between crying dry tears and screaming into the crook of Daryl's neck in agony.

 

A deep sigh. The sound of calloused skin scratching against coarse fabric. _Maybe come down, sit with the others. Might feel hungry then._

 

His hand reaches for hers, thumb dragging across her pulse point. Making sure.

 

_Maybe tomorrow._ It's what she says every day.

 

 

 

She remembers how he'd patched her up when Ed nearly beat her to pieces. How she'd shown up on his doorstep weeping blood and tears with nowhere else to go. He held her carefully, treated her with so much more gentleness than his calloused hands made her believe. Didn't say a word, never tried to make her stay. But she did stay, woke up the next morning with her head on his chest, feeling safe for the first time in years.

 

He tries to be there for her. Tries to do it all right. Brings her food and water, clean clothes and sheets. Reads her from her favorite books until she falls into an uneasy sleep, holds her in his arms when she feels like she is falling apart. He doesn't go on runs anymore, doesn't want to burden her with the worry of what might happen to him out on the road.

 

Carol can feel him clinging to her, painlessly digging his claws into her in an attempt to keep her with him. But her skin tears easily as she slips from his grasp.

 

 

 

When Rick put a bullet through Sophia's head, it tore straight through her heart. Now, everything feels empty, her body a shell filled only with bitter memories (once sweet and now only causing pain). Every single tasks is too much for her fragile limbs to bear. Sitting up. Taking a few first cautious steps. Holding a fork. Speaking. Waking up every morning only to realize once again that none of this was a nightmare.

 

Trying to make Daryl believe that they can come back from this.

 

So when she makes her choice, it doesn't feel like one at all. It feels like a conclusion.


	8. the end

He remembers the day he first met her. Waking up cursing as his alarm tore him from a deep sleep. Sipping lukewarm coffee from a stained cup. Passing the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Driving to work still half-asleep, some cheery tune blasting from the radio.

 

He should have known. And maybe, deep down, he did know all along.

 

He should have known she was saying goodbye.

 

_You're better than this world,_ she whispers into the night, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. Kissing his thrumming pulse point. Her words terrify him, rattle his core. A decade old fear bubbles up, fear that all the good she sees in him is tethered to her. That without her, it will break loose.

 

_I love you._ He falls asleep with those words whispered into his skin, his arms curled around her, holding her to him. Tethering himself to her.

 

When he wakes up in the morning, her side of the bed is empty and cold. Her knife and gun like mementos on the bedside table.

 

And he _knows_.

 

 

 

He remembers how slow things were at work that day, just him and two of the other guys. They'd left for the break room to smoke when she pulled up, climbing out of the car with a timid and nearly frightful expression on her face – pale and freckled with eyes as blue as the sky. He'd blushed before she even set foot into the garage.

 

His steps are slow and unhurried as he makes his way through the prison. Some people nod at him, wishing him a good morning but he keeps walking, barely hears them. Faintly, he can hear Judith fussing in Beth's cell.

 

Carol knew the inner workings of the prison by heart, every part of the machinery, every name and number on the schedule. She knew when to slip away without running into anyone unwanted. Without anyone noticing.

 

The sun warms his skin as he steps outside. A small commotion by the fence. People staring at him. It's Maggie who breaks through the crowd and rushes toward him, tears streaking her face.

 

_Daryl, don't!_ she pleads, grasping his arm but he pushes past her. Towards the fence.

 

He _knows_.

 

But for the first time in his life, the sight of all the blood makes him sick.

 

 

 

He remembers the sound of her voice, quiet and shy. Remembers recognizing a fear in her eyes that was all too familiar when she showed him the scratch. A minor thing, nothing that mattered. Except to her, it obviously did.

 

Pale fingers kneading in her lap as she waited on a bench outside while he fixed it – for free. Because he felt bad charging her anything when she was so rattled (he'd gotten into a lot of trouble for that later).

 

Sweat pearls on his forehead as he digs her grave, next to the sun they never were given the chance to love.

 

Rick and Glenn offer their help, but he refuses, doesn't want anyone helping him. Not Glenn, who still has Maggie. Not Rick, whom he's never forgiven for abandoning his little girl in the woods.

 

So he digs and digs into the dry earth instead of screaming. Carries her body wrapped in a soaked sheet, washing her blood from his hands when it is done.

 

As he kneels on the ground, he recalls the day Sophia died. Saving T-Dog's life. If he hadn't, if he'd just stayed with them, their little girl might not have died. He could have kept her safe, but he _wasn't there_.

 

He saved T-Dog, and his little girl paid the price.

 

And then T-Dog saved Carol's life in the tombs, a dark circle of life and death and guilt.

 

Now, all three of them are gone.

 

So... was it all worth it?

 

 

 

He remembers how fucking soft her skin felt when she shook his hand. How gently her pink lips curved when she thanked him. How his heart stuttered in his chest and his voice failed him.

 

He had no clue back then that his entire life would be flipped upside down on that godforsaken Wednesday afternoon.

 

It is what she wanted and he doesn't have it in himself to be angry at her. Just wishes she could have found a different way, less painful. He wanted her to fall asleep peacefully, not being torn to shreds until not much remained for him to bury.

 

The thought of joining her comes easily, his fingers running down the smooth of her gun as he sits on their cold bed. But he already checked. It's empty, and he knows why. She didn't want him to quit. To opt out. Knew he wouldn't (because if he wanted to, he'd have done it a long time ago).

 

Still, she made sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though the chapter title might suggest otherwise, there is one more chapter after this, which will be a little different than the rest of this story. I know you're all probably glad this grim tale is almost over, and trust me: so am I. 
> 
> Big cuddles to all of you who are still reading, and to those of you who might not want to continue after this ❤


	9. after

**glenn:**

 

He remembers the day he first saw them.

 

The night sky was tinted red by the flames of the burning city, the road jammed with car after car, children crying in terror.

 

They stood there by their truck, the woman with the short gray hair burying her face in the rugged-looking man's chest. His hand cradling her head, the other arm wrapped securely around the shaking little girl. He'd kissed the top of her head and the girl had smiled with tears in her eyes, and it looked almost peaceful if not for the blood on the man's shirt and the crossbow strapped to his back.

 

Glenn sighs as he watches from the distance as Daryl kneels in front of her grave. The sun is setting, embracing the prison field in gentle hues of rose and gold. What a sad picture it would make.

 

 _He didn't want help?_ Maggie's voice is still hoarse, creaking as she slips into his arms. Glenn only shakes his head, sighing.

 

 

 

**rick:**

 

He remembers how surprised he was when he first saw them together. Trailing after the man named Daryl past tents and charred wood, watching the string of squirrels over his shoulder bouncing with each step. A roughness to the guy that he was suspicious of.

 

But then a little girl's voice tore through the quiet bustling of the camp. _Daddy!_ She beamed, her pale, freckled face glowing as she stumbled across the dusty plane, and Daryl caught her easily in his arms, lifting her off the ground. His lips pressing a kiss to her cheek.

 

The woman stepped over towards them slowly, relief washing over her face, and she kissed the man softly, her hand cradling his cheek.

 

Lori slipped her hand into his, looking up at him with a faint smile.

 

Rick leans against the door frame of the cell, Judith fussing in his arms, but his eyes are fixed on Daryl. Laying on his back on the perch, nothing but a thin blanket between him and the unforgiving, harsh metal.

 

The cell he shared with Carol untouched, like a mausoleum, all their memories gathering dust.

 

 

 

**hershel:**

 

He struggles to push away the memories of that day, sun blazing down on the wide expanses of the field around the farm. When the two of them arrived on the back of a roaring motorcycle _together_ , followed closely by a battered RV.

 

The man – covered in dust and sweat and anger – helped her off the bike, steadied her with a surprisingly gentle hand to the small of her back. She shivered despite the heat, eyes glazed. Finding his hand and holding onto it for a short moment until she let it fall.

 

Reaching out to the injured boy's mother for a caring embrace. The man stood silent.

 

He watches from the gate as the bike disappears down the dust road. Yet another run Daryl volunteered for. Another two or three days that he'd be gone. Balancing his weight on the crutches, Hershel waits until the roar of the engine has faded.

 

They are all afraid that one day, Daryl will not return.

 

 

 

**michonne:**

 

She remembers how gentle he was with the woman she could only assume was his wife. Steadying her as she took weak steps, kissing her forehead when he thought nobody could see, slipping his fingers in between hers. It was only later that she found out that the woman named Carol had been assumed dead just a few short hours before.

 

That the man named Daryl was holding on to her so tightly because she had slipped through his fingers before, into a place there was no coming back from.

 

 _What do you mean you let him go?_ Rick's voice is raised, his eyes wide.

 

She sighs, arms folded across her chest. The concrete stretching around them. _What was I supposed to do?_

 

It's the truth. Would she really have tried to hold Daryl back when he packed his meager belongings onto the back of his bike? When he disappeared into the night.

 

Despair flashes across Rick's face. Defeat. _He can't make it out there on his own!_

 

Once upon a time, she would have laughed at that – it's _Daryl_ they are talking about, after all. But now, tears sting in her eyes. _And you really think he still cares about that?_ Slowly, she reaches out her hand to his arm. Eyes flickering over Rick's shoulder and beyond the fence to where the graves rest beyond rich green grass. _He's gone, Rick._

 

 

 

**daryl:**

 

He remembers warm sand between his toes as Sophia splashed in the breaking waves.

 

Charred wood crumbles into ash beneath his feet.

 

 

 

He remembers painting the shutters of their house yellow, paint splatters covering Carol's pale skin like stars.

 

White paint peels of well-worn porch steps.

 

 

 

He remembers sitting by the window, Sophia fast asleep and curled against his chest, small belly rising and falling with each even breath as snowflakes danced outside..

 

Windows are still nailed shut after all this time.

 

 

 

He remembers Carol's hands, delicate and soft, ghosting over his sides, through his hair, across his hips, down between them until his skin was set aflame in the wake of her touch.

 

Bones are scattered on the dusty road.

 

 

 

He remembers first words and first steps.

 

Graves are barely visible where grass has covered them.

 

 

 

He remembers dropping Sophia off at school, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder.

 

He sinks down, runs his hand over the half-hidden cross.

 

A name carved into the wood.

 

 

 

He remembers kissing the swell of Carol's round belly, listening as she read names from a well-worn book until she whispered the right one into his ear.

 

Tracing his fingers along the letters, he lets go.

 

 

 

He remembers feeling needed. Wanted. Loved. Happy. Grateful. Overwhelmed.

 

A single tear drops onto the earth.

 

 

 

He remembers them both with so much clarity.

 

His voice is hoarse and meaningless out here with nobody left to hear.

 

_I'm so sorry, sweetheart._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with this story until the end. I know that it can't have been easy - it definitely wasn't easy to write. There probably is no ending I could have come up with that would have been in any way satisfying.


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